


Our Happiness Tastes Like Champagne (And Smells Like Burritos)

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gift Giving, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Male Slash, Photographs, Pining, Sex, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2014, Mark is enjoying endurance racing and Fernando is having a good F1 season. He misses Mark though, like a physical pain. They make time to see each other when possible, and find ways to keep in touch the rest of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Happiness Tastes Like Champagne (And Smells Like Burritos)

**Author's Note:**

> Huge love to sarcasticmissy for betaing this when I really needed it :) You're awesome.

 

 

Fernando smiled when his phone light up with an alert. It was a smile that very few people got to see, and one that never showed up on camera. It was good timing too; he'd just finished his afternoon work-out. Mark had always had good timing.

 

 

 

Having quickly drained a water bottle, Fernando thumbed open the message. His smile widened instantly and his chest ached.

 

 

 

_We’re on. Make sure there's a jacuzzi._

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Fernando rang Stefano and made arrangements. Then he booked a nice big hotel room, fit for two people. A very pleasant warmth pulsed through Fernando, it had only been weeks since he’d last seen Mark but their time apart felt much more stretched out than that. Was it because they weren’t seeing each other as regularly as they'd used to? Fernando had sworn that he would be able to deal with it. Mark had kissed him fondly, before sucking a bruise on Fernando’s neck that everybody would see when he was at the track that day.

 

 

 

Fernando thought about calling Felipe, to let him know that Mark would be visiting but decided not to. It would be a nice surprise for Felipe, to see Mark in Canada, unexpected but welcome. Mark would probably call the friends that he hoped to meet up with; Daniel and Jenson, maybe Kimi too. He would call Christian because he was still rooted in Red Bull and he was always professional. He would do some PR for them perhaps, he would speak highly of the team and say how good it was to see them again.

 

 

 

That would be the truth, of course, but Fernando knew why Mark would be in Canada as a guest of Ferrari. Some goodbyes were still too fresh to touch.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

They had seen each other many times since Brazil. Fernando had visited Mark at his races for Porsche; he had been there for the 6 Hours Of Silverstone event. It had been strange to see the familiar track full of different cars and teams. But this was Mark's new/old world and he had looked comfortable in it, at home. So Fernando had smiled and had done interviews, being sure to mention Ferrari and F1 and how well Mark was dealing with the transition between the two racing disciplines.

 

 

 

When Porsche had claimed second place, Mark had hugged Fernando after the podium and had kissed him, quick and happy, flooded by camera flashes, before throwing himself towards his team again, who’d laughed and caught him with tired limbs. Fernando had grinned at the familiar taste of a champagne mouth and had watched with proud laughing eyes as Mark had soaked in the crowd’s cheers. It was not F1, but it was what Mark wanted.

 

 

 

They had been giddy together, so glad to touch each other again and charged by the electricity of the racing atmosphere. Fernando knew a little about endurance racing and Mark had introduced him to the team, only some of whom Fernando had met before. He had been aware of the press crawling in around the edges, wanting pictures, but he’d ignored them, whilst still remembering to smile. He was used to playing this game whilst also living his life; he had worn a Ferrari cap that day after all.

 

 

 

That night, Mark had fucked him in a tiny flat that had smelled of lamb curry, laughing about the circle of life and how he’d used to live in a very similar flat when he’d first raced in Europe. Fernando had come with Mark talking him through it, his stubble rough against Fernando’s face and his kisses both biting and soothing.

 

 

 

They hadn’t had lamb curry for dinner that night; Mark’s face had wrinkled at the idea - “Doesn't the flat stink enough of that stuff already?” So not for the first time, he had cooked burritos with sour cream, filling the flat with an alternative cloud of strongly-spiced cooking. Fernando had stayed pressed up against Mark in the kitchen and had licked salsa off of Mark’s fingers. Ever since, Fernando had found himself longing for that distinct taste.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The hotel was expensive but discreet, Fernando had often stayed there before and so was confident that they would not sell stories or let in photographers. The receptionist smiled welcomingly. Her fingernails were painted a pink that matched her lipstick.

 

 

 

“Thank you, Sasha,” he took note of her name badge and she didn’t blush, but her smile did increase a little at the corners.

 

 

 

People like hotel staff and waiters could increase or decrease your comfort and overall experience. They could make life difficult, especially if you were well-known. He tried to remember that and act accordingly. His parents had told him that sometimes he was not so successful at this. However, it was no matter, he was here, tired from travel but still excited under the weariness, still excited.

 

 

 

“My guest arrives later,” he told Sasha.

 

 

 

“That’s not a problem. We’ll be expecting him.”

 

 

 

Fernando smiled as he waited for the elevator, twisting the ring that he now always wore on his left index finger. His heart was full, thinking of how much he was expecting Mark too.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

They spoke on the phone a lot, and exchanged many text messages. Mark sent photos of mud and tyres and mechanics. There was his team, waving for the camera, wearily drinking many cups of tea and flicking through reams of paper strategy. Then there was a photograph taken by somebody else, of Mark asleep sitting propped up against the Porche. That one Fernando had immediately saved as his phone background.

 

 

 

He sent photos back, of the sea of Ferrari red in the garage, of his own feet on the pedals of his bike during one of his daily rides, of Stefano giving a thumbs-up, of Fernando’s empty bed in Oviedo, of a burrito with a bite taken out of it.

 

 

 

Mark’s reply was a simple _I wish_.

 

 

 

Fernando wished also, hard enough to give him a pain in his chest.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Fernando was just stepping out of the shower when there was the beep of a keycard opening the hotel room door. Fernando smiled as he towelled himself dry, hurrying out of the bathroom to set eyes on Mark. There he was, tired but bright-eyed and leaving his suitcases in a pile on the floor so that he could quickly take Fernando’s towel off him and kiss him long and deep. Mark was wearing a ring on his index finger and he tasted of recycled air and cheap soda. Fernando wanted more.

 

 

 

It was a little while before they got around to actually saying hello to each other. First there were Mark’s clothes to peel away, then hands and mouths to keep busy as though they were trying to say everything all at once through touch. The most important sentence came through clearly – _fuck, I missed you_.

 

 

 

Fernando would always miss Mark. He had always been impatient; he always wanted what he wanted at that exact moment. Now, he was learning to drink in as much as he could whenever he had the chance.

 

 

 

The sex was feverish and hard, an affirmation of a promise. They couldn’t stop looking at each other and afterwards stayed locked together, mouths panting. Fernando felt something like contentment curling around his heart. He kissed Mark’s jaw, words were unneeded.

 

 

 

Eventually Mark levered himself up and over to lie at Fernando’s side. Fernando nuzzled into him. “I need another shower now.”

 

 

 

Mark hmmed. “I did ask for a jacuzzi…”

 

 

 

Fernando ordered room service and led the way into the en-suite where an impressively-sized jacuzzi awaited them. While the tub filled, he took his time kissing Mark, counting his ribs with greedy fingers, checking for any new scars. Mark looked at him knowingly.

 

 

 

“I would have said something.”

 

 

 

“I just check you are driving properly this time, not trying to fly again.”

 

 

 

Mark bit Fernando's lip in retaliation so Fernando pushed him into the tub. The splash was very satisfying, as was Mark’s reaction to finding waterproof lube stacked up with the soap. Fernando grinned, he felt as though something was frothing up inside of him, like bubbles of champagne, like water churned by jacuzzi jets. It was a feeling he had missed.

 

 

 

The jacuzzi got a lot of use that night. Fernando sat astride Mark, riding him slowly, keeping the pace languid and lingering. He wanted to feel every thrust; he wanted to be left with an imprint of Mark inside of him. Mark gripped his hips tight and left plenty of imprints on the outside too. Fernando sucked possessive bruises onto Mark’s thighs. Mark held him close as they ate sandwiches and potato chips, interspersed with conversation and teasing kisses.

 

 

 

When they eventually returned to the bed, they breathed words to each other that nobody else got to hear.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Mark looked peaceful when he slept. Oh, there were dark smudges under his eyes, but he wasn’t twitching or muttering like he sometimes did. Fernando took a picture with his phone, a few moments later Mark’s eyes flickered open. He smiled hazily at Fernando and dragged him down for a kiss, Fernando’s expression of distaste made Mark laugh into his mouth and poke him in the ribs.

 

 

 

“Oh, so it’s fine when you want to kiss me after those nasty sandwiches you like so much but a little morning breath is over the line?”

 

 

 

“Is disgusting.”

 

 

 

“Good to know your devotion knows no boundaries.”

 

 

 

Mark sounded as dry as bone or spec reports, but he was smiling with his eyes as well as his mouth and his touch was gentle on Fernando’s face, like he wanted to memorise the shape and sensation. Fernando kissed Mark’s fingers, making sure to catch the ring so like his own.

 

 

 

“Don’t think I don’t know about your creepy love for pictures of me sleeping, mate. You need to see somebody about that.”

 

 

 

Fernando gave Mark his best unimpressed look, though it was not without a little tremor, because Mark was actually there lying beside him, close enough to touch. So Fernando touched him, and then flipped a pillow directly into Mark's face.

 

 

 

“Brush your teeth.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Occasionally, Mark sent him presents. They were always small inexpensive and unexplained things - picture postcards, a handful of shells from an Australian beach that Fernando had once visited with Mark, a piece of muddy gutted track. Tokens really, but sent by Mark because he’d thought of Fernando. They travelled with Fernando from race to race and never failed to make him smile.

 

 

 

Once, he sent something to Mark’s British address. A champagne cork, from his first 2014 podium. That didn't need explaining either.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

On the day of the race, Mark wore a navy blue t-shirt with jeans, his pass clattering around his neck. Fernando couldn’t persuade him to wear red, which was a shame. They arrived at the track together, wearing sunglasses and walking past security to wave at fans who shouted a little louder when they spotted Mark, his arm casual around Fernando’s shoulders. Mark smiled and scrawled his signature and posed for photographs, chatting when questions were answerable. Fernando did the same, laughing when he saw Mark signing autographs with a red glitter gel pen.

 

 

 

“Someone's idea of a 'welcome back' gift,” Mark claimed, though he was smiling like he was amused rather than annoyed.

 

 

 

Fernando grinned at the crowd, enjoying the excited faces and how they adored Mark. F1 fans had good taste. He told them so and got a whoop for his trouble. He and Mark headed into the paddock, Mark reaching down to interlink their fingers. Fernando smiled, not directing the expression towards Mark but knowing that it was seen anyway. The simplicity of it, holding hands as they walked together in the crisp sunshine, brought a familiar thump of feeling to Fernando's chest.

 

 

 

Reporters hurried over as Steffie, one of Ferrari's PR reps, immediately slid into place behind Fernando, ready to record or step in if necessary. Mark didn't look tense in front of the press; he rarely did, though now he wore an additional layer of comfort, like some weight had been taken from him since the last time he’d faced the F1 media. They'd always liked him because he spoke his mind, he didn't stick to PR lines, no matter the situation. And Ferrari could not tell him to do otherwise.

 

 

 

“Oh, it's great to be here, good to know the Canadian weather's still got that welcoming chill to it,” Mark started, microphones and digital recorders crowded in front of him. “And good to catch up with everyone. Sadly schedules being what they are, it hasn't worked out until today.”

 

 

 

“It is good to have him here, he has been missed, I think,” Fernando put in. “I know I miss our battles out on track.”

 

 

 

As the questions continued, in a couple of different languages, their hands remained tangled together, a vital point of contact between them.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Mark had trained hard for his new career and it showed. His body had always been lean, now it was even more sinewy and rangy, a testament to how much time he was spending in the gym and on his bike. Sometimes, Fernando thought that Mark looked like a statue, the sort that would have been venerated outside a coliseum.

 

 

 

Fernando liked to look at him. He liked the tattoo that Mark now sported across his left hip and the old scars that spoke greatly of his experience. He liked working out beside Mark, legs pumping, every part of them concentrated and aware. He liked Mark’s body against his.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Felipe's smile stretched widely when he spied Mark outside the Williams garage. As soon as he could, Felipe came out to chat, calling for Rob.

 

 

 

“It's a good day, he visits too,” Felipe told them, as Rob appeared with a large sheath of papers tucked under his arm.

 

 

 

“Not so good if he's got that many stats with him,” Mark replied, accepting the brief back-slapping hug from Rob.

 

 

 

Rob laughed, he still inexplicably had that red goatee but he looked happy to be with Felipe, as always. He had moved to Williams with the Brazilian, though was no longer his race engineer, choosing to take up a more senior position at the Williams factory. So Felipe and Rob were dealing with their own kind of separation, no longer in each other's pockets, but they had adjusted, like Fernando and Mark had, and Felipe looked good. There was less tension round his eyes now. Fernando frowned briefly, remembering the talks he'd had with Stefano, impressing upon him how much he'd valued Felipe, as a teammate and for his loyalty and willingness to do all for the team.

 

 

 

But Felipe had a new team now, with roots like Ferrari's, and he was finding good feet there. So Fernando decided to be pleased for him, it was true that he was now also able to be more social with Felipe, Felipe's unhappiness at his moderate career no longer hanging accusingly between them. That was good; Fernando had forgotten what a good friend Felipe could be.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Soon, Mark ducked away for Red Bull duties. Fernando didn’t go with him of course, instead he met with his team, going over details for the race and there had been a tremble on the car's right side in qualifying that he wanted gone. He was sat at the back of the garage when he heard familiar footsteps and felt Mark's hand on his shoulder. There was that thump in his chest again, because for a while such a hand had not touched him on race day. He could see the ring on Mark’s finger, it made him smile.

 

 

 

“You make good relations?” he asked.

 

 

 

Mark laughed, hunkering down so that they didn’t have to shout over the mechanics' noise. “I'm going out for drinks with the team later, you're invited.”

 

 

 

Christian probably wouldn't be there, or Adrian. Mark would maybe talk to them more privately, a conversation not for the cameras. He valued both men for how they had guided and shaped his career, he might not have always agreed with Christian's decisions but he hadn't lost his respect for the man. Fernando had stopped trying to understand.

 

 

 

“You watch my drinks, I go,” he said at last.

 

 

 

Mark's eyes crinkled at the edges. Fernando wanted to take a photo so that he could count the lines when Mark was no longer there in person to smile at him.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Mark was welcomed into the Ferrari garage; he recognised some of the crew and chatted with them as Fernando did his final checks. Mark didn't come over and talk to him; he didn't tell him good luck or give him any tips. He just nodded when Fernando caught his eye and Fernando felt the rub of metal jewellery against his skin. It was all either of them needed.

 

 

 

Mark probably stayed in the garage during the race, headphones clamped to his ears, arms crossed. The cameras probably strayed to him several times, commentators discussing his choice of Ferrari's garage instead of Red Bull's. Fernando was used to his life being smeared across national papers and television. Mark had never carried that attention lightly, but he had always coped without incident.

 

 

 

The race was a rush of images, of sweat and concentration on both the tiny details and the big picture. When Fernando crossed the line first, he crowed in Spanish. He made sure to point towards Mark when he saw him crushed in the Ferrari crowd at the podium barrier and caught a fleeting glimpse of Mark’s answering grin. Sebastian was staring a little but Fernando patted him on the back and said _well done for avoiding that Rosberg collision, is Nico okay?_ Amid the soaking of champagne, Fernando clutched the bottle's cork in his fist.

 

 

 

Once he had spoken to the media – yes, he was pleased, his first 2014 win, Ferrari had designed a great car this year, he was grateful to the whole team – he found Mark chatting to Jenson, a conversation that Mark finished with a comment about getting dinner before the crowds went crazy.

 

 

 

Jenson laughed, nodding towards Fernando. “Careful, he's tipping the weight limit as it is.”

 

 

 

Fernando let the deep satisfaction of the day's triumph seep into his words. “Only when I hold the trophy.”

 

 

 

That only made Jenson laughed harder, but he left them to it as Mark emphatically kissed Fernando's champagne-tinged lips. “My turn.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Drinks with Red Bull – the idea was bizarre. Fernando told Stefano about it and the team principal’s eyebrows rose to his hairline but he nodded slowly, warning Fernando not to drink too much, okay? Mark didn’t crack any comments about paranoia.

 

 

 

They were a little late; they shared a shower first, unwilling to stop touching each other. Mark crouched on the slippery tiles and sucked at Fernando’s cock until Fernando was loud in his appreciation, his face screwed up against the cascading water and the wave of pleasure that surged unforgivingly through him. Mark’s kiss afterwards was triumphantly salty.

 

 

 

Fernando made silent plans – later, he would make Mark shout. He would make Mark’s expression twist exquisitely until the image was burned into Fernando’s mind to treasure later. He would lick at the bruises on Mark’s thighs before concentrating on his balls, then his cock, until Mark moaned out his release. Fernando would do that and remember every sound; it was good to have such goals.

 

 

 

But for now, he and Mark were heading to a small out-of-the-way restaurant, where many Red Bull employees were crowded. They cheered at Mark’s entrance and nobody pulled a face at seeing Fernando. So he ordered food and watched as Mark chatted to friends, accepting drinks and hugs. He didn’t forget Fernando though; he frequently reached out to touch Fernando’s arm or shoulder, or to rub a thumb at his pulse-point. Fernando still wanted to drag Mark back to their hotel so that they could make the most of their time together, but Mark had friends he wanted to see and Fernando would get to have him all night. Fernando smiled down at his filled potato skins and medium-rare steak, triumphant.

 

 

 

“Thought you’d go for a burrito,” Mark laughed in his ear.

 

 

 

Fernando raised an eyebrow and made as if to drop some of his dinner down Mark’s nice new shirt, but Mark grabbed his wrist and ate the threatening food instead. He followed the theft up with a kiss, his mouth tasted of beer, cheese, and carbs, which was strangely attractive. Of course it was, it was Mark. Fernando chased the taste with his tongue and someone whistled loudly. A few cameras flashed, Mark flipped them off without breaking the kiss. Laughter bubbled up and burst all around them.

 

 

 

Sebastian was there, Fernando had spotted him when they’d arrived. He had been talking with friends for most of the night, looking so young away from the track, out of his racing suit armour. His face was a little flushed, but he looked happy and almost carefree. It was unnerving; Fernando forced himself to glance away. Sebastian was apparently enjoying his evening at no one else’s expense. Fernando could do the same.

 

 

 

To his surprise, when Mark did a circuit of the room, one of the people he paused to chat with was Sebastian. Sebastian himself looked a little surprised and unsure for the first time all evening, but Mark seemed entirely at ease, despite Heikki lurking silently just behind Sebastian. Whatever the (carefully guarded) breadth of Heikki’s role in Sebastian’s life, it was clearly not _just_ a job. That was helpful, to have someone so steady always there, not just because they were paid to or because they were looking after the company’s golden boy.

 

 

 

Fernando finished his potatoes and steak and ordered dessert.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Outside, the chill was deeper. Fernando huddled close to Mark as they buttoned up jackets and Mark called his last goodbyes through the restaurant door. His expression was loaded with contentment; Fernando smiled because he was part of that. He had helped create it. He leaned in to kiss Mark’s cheek, enjoying how Mark automatically wrapped an arm around his waist, securing them hip to hip.

 

 

 

They walked back towards the hotel, still interlocked. The sky seemed darker than usual, maybe because of the determined brightness of the city’s lights. Fernando turned to Mark with a comment on his lips, but it died there because Mark was staring at him, like he was taking a photograph with his eyes. Fernando breathed in sharply, that thump back in his chest again. Did Mark ever experience a similar feeling? He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mark’s expression, wanting to memorise it. Another one to collect for later.

 

 

 

Mark’s fingers were cold when they cupped Fernando’s jaw but that wasn’t why Fernando shivered. Mark’s lips were a contrast of warmth flavoured with the mellow burn of beer; Fernando sank into them, trying to catch the sound of Mark’s heartbeat through layers of cold-weather clothing. This, he wanted to remember too.

 

 

 

Someone was speaking German close by, and then Fernando found himself stumbling backwards, taking Mark with him. They both looked to their right to find Sebastian, his face pinking, and Heikki ever present beside him.

 

 

 

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there…”

 

 

 

Mark shrugged with one shoulder, keeping Fernando close to him. “We're the ones blocking the footpath.”

 

 

 

Fernando jabbed a finger at Mark’s chest. “Your fault.”

 

 

 

Mark grabbed at Fernando’s offending finger just as Fernando caught sight of Heikki’s hand moving close to Sebastian’s but not quite touching. He felt unexpectedly sorry for them – Heikki had been part of Sebastian’s team for years now and still whatever they were to each other was kept professionally blank in front of the world. Red Bull’s orders? Sebastian’s choice? Maybe even Heikki’s? Regardless, it seemed a punishing way to live. Fernando directed a half-smile at Heikki, which gained him a flicker of an eyebrow back.

 

 

 

Sebastian’s gaze was fixed on the ring that Mark wore, now more obvious thanks to the way he was clasping Fernando’s hand. Feeling slyly impish, Fernando waggled his free fingers.

 

 

 

“We match.”

 

 

 

Mark squeezed fingers at Fernando’s hip. “C’mon, before the night runs away from us.”

 

 

 

He called friendly goodnights over his shoulder as they began heading towards the hotel again. Fernando smiled, small and private – the rings were not a declaration nor did they point towards a guaranteed future. They were a wish and a promise, because he and Mark wanted the same thing. It was good to always have a reminder of that, especially with the now-frequent distance between them.

 

 

 

At some point before Mark left for his next block of training and racing, Fernando would find a way to secret the champagne cork from his Canada win in Mark’s luggage. Maybe he'd put it in a jacket or pants pocket, so that Mark could unexpectedly find it when he unpacked his bags back in the UK. Maybe Mark would smile, like Fernando did when he looked at the photos on his phone, or whenever he glimpsed his ring out of the corner of his eye.

 

 

 

He got a surprise himself when, days later and with Mark now many miles away, he looked through those photos and found one of himself asleep. He looked pretty deep under, his mouth partly open, his hair flat. It was not flattering at all. The only part of Mark that was visible was his hand resting on Fernando's arm.

 

 

 

Fernando smiled, at the photo and at the pain that thumped through his chest. It was almost a comfort.

 

 

 

He ordered burritos.

 

 

 

_-the end_


End file.
